"Catch me in the off-season.Right now, my job is the priority.Most likely, I only have a few seasons left in me.I’m not going to mess it up.Plus, once you’re in your thirties, you seem to lose all ability to metabolize alcohol.It makes me feel like shit."
"Oh, I’m gonna feel like shit tomorrow.No doubt about it."Her head bobs up and down in an exaggerated motion."But it’s better to feel like shit from this than from my reality."
Fair point.
Her eyebrows knit together as if she’s trying to do long division in her head."What are you going to do after soccer?"
I refill her glass with water.She’s definitely going to be hungover in the morning."I have no idea," I say honestly.Usually I avoid this question but I doubt she’ll remember this conversation.
She rests her chin in her hands."Well, what did you want to be when you grew up?Other than a soccer player."
I flip the chicken, peek in on the vegetables, and then return to my side of the counter, facing Rachel."I wanted to be a magician."
Rachel’s eyelids are drooping.Her speech is slurred as she says, "If only you were, I could be your assistant in a sexy sequined costume."
As I start to reply, it becomes apparent she’s fallen asleep.Quickly I race around to her, before her head can slip out of her hands and hit the granite countertop.I slide one arm around her back and the other beneath her thighs, pulling her close to my body.I pick her up and turn, surveying my place.
Now what do I do?
Maybe I should bring her home?I can get her to my SUV, and then I’ll drive over to her apartment and—shit, I don’t know what apartment she lives in.It’s probably not great for my image to be walking around with a woman passed out, thrown over my shoulder.Some nosy neighbor would definitely call the cops on me for that.I don’t need people thinking I’m a creeper who drugs women.
I could put her on the couch.That would be respectable, yet uncomfortable.My couch sucks.It looks great, but it feels like concrete.I could put her in my bed, which would be the chivalrous thing to do.But then where would I sleep?
Tomorrow is game day.I promised Coach that if I stayed at my own apartment, I’d obey the curfew and the sleep rules.It’s literally my job to be in peak physical shape.I can’t be stiff and sore, and that couch would absolutely wreck my back.
Maybe I can put her in my bed for now, and by the time I’m done eating, she’ll wake up and then I can walk her home.
Except by the time I finish cooking dinner, take some video of it, eat it, and then stack my dishes in the sink, Rachel is still out, snoring very lightly.As gently as I can, I shake her shoulder."Rachel, wake up."My voice is barely above a whisper.She doesn’t move.I do it again, this time a little louder and a little more forcefully.
All she does is roll over, curling herself into a fetal position, her hands in fists, bent in toward her body.She looks so small in my king-size bed.
There’s so much space left in the bed.I could sleep on the other side without disturbing her at all.Normally, I’d sleep in my boxers, but tonight, I change into gym shorts and a T-shirt.I lie down and roll to my side, my back to Rachel.If I were any closer to the side of the bed, I’d be on the floor.
I scroll on ClikClak with the volume so low I can barely hear it.While I normally scroll for an hour or two, I feel sleep coming to my body almost immediately.See?I’ll be totally rested.Before I know it, my eyes are closing, and I’m out.
The hand shaking my shoulder is surprisingly strong."Wake up.TJ.Tyler, wake up!"The hissing voice is surprisingly loud, too.
I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, but it hasn’t been long enough.I push the hand away and pretend I didn’t hear anything.
"TJ.Tyler!"Someone is shaking me again.
I open one eye."What?"It’s not even light out yet."What time is it?"
"Um, it’s a little after four."
"Okay, I’ll talk to you after seven.I have a game.I need my sleep."I pull the pillow over my head and go back to sleep.
When I wake up to the sound of my alarm at seven—a much more reasonable hour—I find myself alone in the apartment.Rachel’s gone.
That’s disappointing.
I can’t think about what this means until I’m properly caffeinated.
I start coffee in the pot—the one thing I know how to make—and pick up my phone to text Rachel.
Me: Sneaking off in the middle of the night?No note, no nothing?
Rachel: It was after 4.
